


Consequence

by SandfireKat



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Friendship, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Language, Self-Sacrifice, Torture, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandfireKat/pseuds/SandfireKat
Summary: "Don't make me an afterthought...make me the entire punishment."JT and Malcolm are captured by a man from JT's past, intent on taking revenge. And Malcolm knows that if only one of them can make it out alive, it can't be him.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel
Comments: 42
Kudos: 192





	Consequence

**Author's Note:**

> So you all convinced me to write this fic! I hope you like it! I wrote a similar fic for Deception so adapting it to Prodigal Son has been fun! And I'm always a sucker for more minor relationships being highlighted. I hope you like it! Huge thanks to wewriteletters and suitupbuttercup for helping me iron out the villain's backstory! <3  
> Please read the tags! They are subject to change.
> 
> Warning: Possession of child pornography is mentioned as a prior criminal charge.

JT looked at the clock and held back a sigh when he saw how late it was. He hadn’t meant to lose track of time the way he had, and yet here he was. It would be the third time this week he’d be getting home well past nine— a bad habit he was doing everything he could to break, and yet it never seemed to be in the cards for him. It was a string of coincidences and puzzling cases, not entirely separate, back-to-back-to-back that got him so sidetracked…he didn’t think there was a night he’d made it home before five in the past two weeks. Apparently the streak was going unbroken, for now.

Tally was going to be cross with him; he’d promised he’d be back earlier, tonight. Look how well that turned out.

He drew away from his work, putting it all up for tomorrow, telling himself that maybe with fresh eyes, they could actually get somewhere. Right now, no matter where they turned, there always seemed to be a wall waiting there to greet them. It was one of those cases that got on your nerves simply because it was so complicated and tangled. He blew out a breath as he stood and started out for his car, trying to leave behind the meddling thoughts just as easily as he left behind his desk. He was starting to wonder whether or not any of the grocery stores would still be open, so he might bring home flowers to Tally to make up for it, if she was even still awake. When something caught his eye as he walked by.

Gil and Dani had left hours ago, he was sure. He’d assumed Bright would have been right behind them, and yet JT stopped short when he realized that wasn’t the case. Bright was still sitting at his desk, hunched over about five different folders, all open to different evidence. He looked exhausted and strained, and fully engrossed— even as JT found himself slowing and looking at him, Malcolm didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t even blink, his slightly-bloodshot eyes roving every which way through those evidence folders. He was holding his head in his hands, and even from where he was standing, JT could see their telltale shaking.

He stopped, staring at him for a couple of heartbeats. He turned and looked over his shoulder for the door. He hesitated for a few seconds, debating just continuing to walk. But something won him over and instead he turned, making for where Bright was sitting, quietly obsessing the way he always did. “Hey.” At first, he didn’t even look up. _“Hey,”_ he repeated, a little louder. This time, Malcolm jerked, blinking rapidly and looking up like JT had just thrown a bucket of freezing water over him.

JT stopped a few feet away from the desk. He tilted his head towards the mess that was cluttering the tablespace. “You should get home,” he said. Malcolm stared at him like he was speaking another language. JT’s eyebrows rose. “It’s _late,_ Bright.” He looked at the clock, still appearing bemused or lost— like something wasn’t connecting. “I know you wanna solve this case, but you’re not gonna solve it if you’re half-asleep,” he pointed out. When he still said nothing, JT pressed on, trying to will himself patience. “I know you don’t get a _lot_ of sleep a night, but it’s time to go home, Bright. Get some space from all this. Come back tomorrow with a fresh head.”

He looked at him like he was still a little confused— like what JT was saying wasn’t making any sense to him. He opened his mouth and at first, it looked like he was going to try and fight him. It certainly _seemed_ like that was what he was going to do; JT was already arming himself for whatever ridiculous argument he would come up with. But after a couple seconds, Malcolm seemed to realize it wasn’t the smart thing to do. He bit it all back and closed his mouth, glancing once more at the clock as if to confirm the time he’d seen before had actually been correct. His shoulders slackened and he bent forward a little more, as if weighted down by a certain kind of defeat.

“Okay…yeah,” he agreed eventually. He barely had the time to feel accomplished for talking him down, though, before he was going on. “I’ll go in a second…I just…have a few more things I want to try and check first…”

JT eyed him blandly, but Malcolm was already looking back down at the array of folders. Everything seemed so everywhere, he hardly knew how he was keeping track of everything he was looking at. He stood there for a couple more moments, watching him pour back over the evidence. Once again, he looked over his shoulder, debating whether or not he should just go. The longer he stayed, the later he would get home, and the angrier Tally would be, he was sure. But when he looked back at Malcolm and saw how intently he was staring down at the table again, he made up his mind. He knew that if he left now, Bright would stay for at the _very least,_ a couple more hours. If he went home, he would do so at three in the morning, and show back up here at six. That was just if he didn’t fall asleep on all the evidence in the meantime. JT would be willing to bet money on the idea of coming back and seeing him asleep on all these papers, getting drool all over their evidence and ruining it.

No. If he left him now, Bright definitely wasn’t going to get any sleep. And then what use was he?

The offer was leaving his mouth before he even really knew it was coming. “Bright, let me drive you home.” Malcolm looked up at the offer, surprised. Usually Gil took him to and from work— sometimes Dani, but never JT. The offer felt weird leaving him in the first place, and yet there wasn’t any taking it back now. He knew doing so would have him driving out of his way, making him even _later._ Maybe at this point, by the time he got home, Tally would be asleep and he could avoid the apology, at least until the morning. He would wake her up with breakfast, and everything could be forgiven before it even really started.

Malcolm started to reject him. “No, that’s— it’s alright, I’ll only be a couple more—”

“C’mon, Bright,” JT said thinly, cutting right through whatever lie he was trying to sell to him. Malcolm wilted, a little torn, but JT just stepped to the side and jerked his head, beckoning him on. “I’m already late, I don’t have time for this.” The way he said this left no room for argument. He could see Malcolm trying his best to come up with one, but he must have come up short. It didn’t take more than a couple seconds for Malcolm to sigh and give in, turning regretfully down to all the evidence and closing it up one by one, making a neat stack in the corner for the morning. Begrudgingly, the way a kid might do if their parent yelled at them to get off the PlayStation and go to bed, he got up from his chair and grabbed his coat. He shrugged it on as he turned and started towards JT.

Without a word, JT turned and led the way outside to where he was parked. The silence was a little stiff between them, but JT was just grateful Bright had actually caved and hadn’t tried to insist on staying. Maybe some part of him was ready to be done today, just like he was. Bright loved cases, but these kinds of cases drove you up the wall. It was important to get a break from them every once and a while or you would go insane— hence the reason JT was going out of his way to get this dude home. If nothing else, separation would do him good. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if as soon as he dropped him off, Malcolm just grabbed a taxi right back to the station.

Electing to avoid this possibility, JT led the way outside, into the cold. At first, it stayed silent between them as they walked. Malcolm still seemed preoccupied with the case; his stare had a blank, far-away attribute to it, and JT noticed how deeply his hands were stuffed away into his pockets; he wondered if that was because they were still shaking a little bit. JT glanced at him a couple times, trying to think of a means he could take to end the gap the silence was creating between them but coming up short. He resigned himself to the quiet, and a very awkward ride back home.

But no sooner did he resign himself to it, was Malcolm suddenly piping up and breaking the quiet. “How’s Tally doing?” he asked. JT glanced at him, seeing that most of his preoccupation was gone by now. He was smiling, instead, his eyes a little brighter than they’d been. “She’s what…six months along? Seven?”

JT hesitated, before he looked back front. “Seven and a half,” he answered.

His smile grew. “That’s exciting.” When JT said nothing, his smile dropped a bit. “How are you feeling about it?” he asked.

He _felt_ like it was too late/early in the night/morning to be having this conversation. Nonetheless, he gave in. He titled his head a little to the side, in a relenting kind of way. “I’m…coming around to it more and more every day,” he eventually confessed. Malcolm was regaining his smile. There was a small pause, as JT looked for the right words to _actually_ express how he felt about it. But in the end he just doubled back and chose a different route instead. “The nursery is almost finished,” he said instead. “Tally picked out a very _specific_ shade of gray. It’s almost there.”

“Gray— that’s very neutral,” Malcolm commented. JT just hummed a little. He was quick to tack on: “I bet it looks great.”

JT glanced at him, like he was trying to tell whether or not he was being smart by saying such a thing. But there was nothing but sincerity on his face. He looked back and started getting his keys out of his pocket. “It’s coming along,” he relented. “We have all the furniture, just waiting to be moved in…Tally is researching which hospital she wants to go to. ‘Window shopping’, is what she calls it.” Malcolm laughed a little. JT unlocked his car and started to round to the driver’s side. “Yup…it’s all coming together. Whether I feel ready for it or not,” he added. Malcolm looked at him, and he shrugged one shoulder. “I’m starting to think I won’t feel ready until it happens, you know?”

Malcolm nodded, going around the other side of the car. “I can understand that.” There was brief pause, before he smiled again and pushed himself to speak. “If it’s any consolation, though…I think you’ll make a great father.” JT glanced at him. His smile turned a bit more sheepish. “If my opinion on father figures means anything whatsoever to you, that is,” he amended. This got JT smirking. He shook his head a little as he opened the door and slid inside. Malcolm was fast to follow.

It was much warmer inside the car than it was, out. Malcolm let out a sigh as he sat back into the seat, automatically reaching up to pull the seat belt down across him. JT was doing the same thing, sticking the key in the ignition and revving the car to life. The second that Malcolm was buckling in and the radio was coming on, he heard a tiny click. At first, he thought it was from his own seat belt, and he was ready to dismiss it. Though right after he heard the click, he saw movement out of the very corner of his eye. Already, he started to stiffen as he began to turn, his eyebrows pulling together as he asked JT, who was busy putting the car into reverse: “Hey, did you hear—?”

He didn’t have time to finish, before someone was getting up from the floor of the backseat. The instant Malcolm started to yell out, they were drawing a gun and jamming it hard into the back of JT’s neck. JT stiffened, his eyes going wide; he started to turn around, but the person hissed: “Don’t move.” JT’s eyes flickered to Malcolm. Malcolm was completely frozen, struggling to wrap his mind around what was happening. Slowly, his right hand started to inch back into his pocket, where his phone was. The movement was slight, but the person immediately caught it. _“You_ either,” he growled. “One move and I put a bullet through his head.”

Malcolm stopped, mid-reach. His mind was going everywhere at once, scrambling for something – _anything_ – he could do. The person was wearing a ski mask— there was nothing to identify from there. His eyes were glittering with rage in the dim light. He was glancing quickly between him and JT. Malcolm’s mind raced even more. He was surprised— he didn’t count on him being here. He was probably currently freaking out, wondering what in the world he was supposed to do. That was what the silence was— he was going through everything in his head right this very second, debating what he should do.

After a couple seconds, Malcolm brought himself to speak, raising his left hand as if to try and steady him, looking slowly between him and the gun he was currently pulling on JT. His voice was quiet and slow. “Listen…” he breathed. The person scowled at him, but said nothing. He’d twisted around more, to be able to see him. As he spoke, he started to move his right hand once more in barely-there increments, trying to get it into his pocket without being caught. “We have _no_ idea who you are,” he murmured. JT was staring him down out of the corner of his eye. Malcolm tried to block the fact out. “If you leave right now…we’d have _no_ way of finding you again.”

The person’s eyes narrowed even more. He said nothing. The gun didn’t waver in his hand.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows at him imploringly. His hand was inching into his pocket, unlocking his phone. “You don’t have to do this,” he pointed out. “You can cut your losses now. Leave the car…and disappear. We won’t follow you.” Without looking down, he opened his phone. His first contact was Gil— it would be better to dial the police, but he was less confident in his ability to dial without looking at the screen. He memorized the swipes it would take to get to Gil— that would have to be enough. “It’ll be like nothing happened,” he continued, just as quietly. “You can leave…and have no repercussions from this whatsoever.”

The person scowled harder. Malcolm clicked what he hoped was Gil’s name. He was the most recent phone call he’d made; by all accounts, it should be him. But the second he clicked it, he realized he’d missed a crucial step. The _instant_ his phone started ringing, it could be heard in the absolute silence of the car. JT’s eyes went huge the second that Malcolm’s did. Quickly, he looked down at his pocket, a rush of horror going through him at the sheer stupidity of his actions. At something he’d so easily overlooked just because he wasn’t thinking. Reeling, he opened his mouth to say something as it continued to ring, looking back up to the person and trying to come up with something he could possibly say.

However, the instant he was turning back to say something, the person was taking the gun away from JT purely to lash out and hit him over the head with it. The last thing Malcolm saw was JT whirling around, making a move to reach back for the person behind him in a desperate attempt. Before Malcolm could say or do anything to possibly help, the gun was making painful contact with his forehead. He was thrown with the force of the collision, knocking back against the car door and losing consciousness from the white-hot burst of pain that followed.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The first thing he was aware of was the aching ringing in his head. It felt like it was splitting open— like there was a stake driven deep into the center of his forehead. Before he could even open his eyes, he was groaning, his stomach twisting into harsh knots. He tried to work his eyes open, but the effort was harder than it seemed. It was slow going— prying his eyelids apart just tripled all the pain. But he tried to breathe through it as best he could. He knew he had to get his bearings, and get them fast. Eventually, he managed it.

Once he could open his eyes, he was able to piece things together more easily. He was laying on the ground, in what looked like an unfinished basement. The floor and walls looked exactly the same— bare and gray. There was a singular light bulb hanging from a string in the middle of the room; everything else was casted in shadow. Malcolm started to try and move, when he became aware of a pressure wrapped around his wrists. Sure enough, he twisted and looked down and his heart sank when he realized he’d been handcuffed to the wall.

He tried to take all the details as fast as he could; with his sluggish mind, it took a couple more seconds than it usually would have. He was dragged into the moment fully, when he heard the cool voice off to the side. “You’re awake.” Malcolm stiffened, coming back to himself all the way and immediately turning towards the voice. Immediately, he was stiffening, his eyes going wider when he saw the man from the car. He’d been standing nearer to the shadows, so he’d almost melted into them. Scrambling a little clumsily with how he was restrained, Malcolm pushed himself up to sit, ignoring how his head swam with the transition.

The man just regarded him with a frosty gaze. Malcolm turned, panicking for a moment as he wondered where JT was. But he relaxed just a little when he realized he was in the same situation he was— he was a couple yards away, handcuffed to one of the pipes in the walls, too. He wasn’t awake, yet. There was blood running down the side of his face— a testament to the fact he’d been knocked out the same way Malcolm had been. He had no idea what time it was or how long they’d been out or where they were now. Everything was a big question mark.

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on JT’s unconscious form before he finally kicked himself into gear. He turned, looking back at the man. He was still wearing that mask over his face. Digging his nails into his palms, Malcolm was careful to keep his voice steady when he spoke, low and slow. “You still have a chance.” The man’s eyes flashed. He said nothing; Malcolm kept pressing. “We don’t know your name, or your face.” He paused, before he tentatively snuck a little bit more warning into his tone. “The man I called in the car was Gill Arroyo. He’s—”

“I know who Gil Arroyo is,” the man interrupted blandly. Malcolm blinked a couple times, taken aback. Slowly, the man started towards him. Malcolm found himself immediately responding by pressing back more against the wall. “Just like I know who _he_ is,” he said, poison leaking in his voice when he changed to focus on JT. Malcolm weakened, tensing the closer he got. He wasn’t heading for him, though; he walked to JT and, after glaring down at him for a couple seconds, he kicked out and caught him in the side.

Immediately, Malcolm was yanking against his cuffs, scowling. “Hey!” The man just kicked again, harder, and he yelled louder: _“Hey!”_

JT started to rouse, with the combined kicking and shouting.

The man looked over at Malcolm, his tone almost bored when he invited: “Feel free to yell all you want. There’s nobody around to hear you.” Malcolm weakened, his face falling. The man kicked JT once more, and this one seemed to do the trick. JT was just as slow to wake up as Malcolm had been, but when he felt the cuffs around his wrists and he saw the man standing over him, fear did the same thing it did for Malcolm, and helped to snap him back the rest of the way. Unlike Malcolm, though, JT’s first impulse was to scowl up at the man. As he yanked himself to sit up, he glared daggers at him, looking fit to kill— like he was choking on rage.

Immediately, he was yanking on the cuffs, trying to break out of their hold as he started to spit, “You have _five seconds_ to tell me what the _hell_ you think you’re—”

Before he could finish the threat, though, the man was pulling out his gun again, thrusting it into his face. Immediately, JT was breaking off, snapping his mouth shut and eyeing the weapon with furious caution. The man’s voice stayed just as unaffected. “It’s _your turn_ to listen to _me,”_ he said coolly. Malcolm looked from him to JT, his eyes wide. JT caught his eye and they exchanged a look as the mystery man went on. “It’s been _years…_ since _anyone_ has listened to me. I’m not in the mood to listen to you talk anymore— now it’s _my_ turn.”

JT somehow had the nerve to turn and stare him down, despite the gun being an inch away from his face. “So _talk_ , then,” he growled. Malcolm’s stomach twisted, but he said nothing. He just waited tensely, for whatever was going to come.

And come it did. The man held the gun up to his face for a couple more moments before he drew away, keeping it in his grip though, as a warning to keep silent. He looked at JT like someone might look at a pile of garbage. His words were brittle and snarled when he asked, “Do you have any idea who I am?” The silence was answer enough. His scowl only deepened, when all JT did was stare. “You don’t recognize my voice?” he pressed. JT’s scowl was dropping a little bit…he was actually trying to track it down, Malcolm could tell. But he was coming up short. The man waited, giving him the benefit of the doubt. But it was clear he expected the radio silence. He wasn’t surprised.

Malcolm fought the urge to grimace when the man reached up to take his mask off. There was a lot of leverage they had with the fact they didn’t have much of a means of recognizing the man again, should he let them go. Of course, there were other ways they could track him down, but in bargaining, those didn’t come up. It was easiest to pretend there was a simple way to fix things, and that was going out the window now that the man was ripping off the ski mask. He felt a kick of disappointment and a heighten to the panic that he’d been trying to keep a tight lid on. But at the same time, he couldn’t keep himself from looking at JT, trying to see whether or not he knew the face he was staring at.

At first, it seemed like he didn’t. He stared at him with all the recognition that someone had meeting a stranger for the first time. Wildly, Malcolm started to wonder whether or not this entire thing was some huge misunderstanding. But then, finally, recognition sparked in the very back of JT’s eyes. It wasn’t a lot at all, but it was there. They widened out a little bit, as he stared at him. The man’s eyes narrowed further at the unspoken confirmation. And yet still, he didn’t sound satisfied when he spoke. “Do you remember my name?” he asked. JT opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It was just as good an answer as anything else. The man held the gun a little closer. “Think _hard,”_ he snarled.

JT somehow kept his voice in control when he returned: “I don’t remember your name.”

The man’s upper lip curled, in his anger. “You _should!”_ he spat, Malcolm flinching a little when he suddenly yelled. Again, to JT’s credit, he didn’t bat an eye. “You put me away for nearly _twelve_ years!” he yelled, after a moment’s pause. Malcolm’s eyes widened as his stomach fell away from him. “Does the name Robert Meyer ring any _bells_ for you?” JT was putting the puzzle pieces together. At the name, his eyes went much wider. Malcolm could see the pieces fit together. “You got me put in prison for almost _twelve years_ and you don’t even _remember_ me!”

JT slowly shook his head, something in his expression changing. “No…I remember you,” he muttered eventually. Malcolm blinked, looking fast between the two of them. His stomach jolted.

“You got me on _possession,”_ Robert seethed. _“Eleven_ years! For _possession!”_

JT scowled at him, revulsion and loathing filling his voice when he completed the thought for him. “Possession of _child pornography,”_ he growled. Malcolm tensed.

Robert’s expression stayed dark with rage. “They were _pictures,”_ he spat. “I _never_ touched a single kid.”

“You didn’t _have_ to,” JT spat back.

 _“You ruined my life!”_ he yelled. “You took _everything_ from me, all because of a couple of _photos!”_

JT’s scowl just grew even more severe. “It _wasn’t—”_

 _“I don’t want to hear your bullshit!”_ he screamed, JT immediately snapping his mouth shut. His eyes were smoldering with hatred and loathing. “I don’t even want to hear you’re _sorry._ Not _yet,”_ he seethed through clenched teeth. He crouched down to be more on his level. The look on his face was dangerous, as he scowled at him with enough fury to melt him on the spot. His voice was nothing more than a low growl when he declared: “I’m going to _make_ you sorry.”

JT started to say something in response. “You—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish, before Robert was drawing his arm back, hitting him over the head with the gun a second time. Malcolm’s eyes went huge when JT’s head was flung with the force. More blood was immediately rushing down his face from his forehead. It dripped on the ground, staining it. Malcolm pulled against his handcuffs uselessly, feeling desperation and helplessness bottle back in his throat like a scream. “Wait!” he yelled. Robert turned his scowl onto him as JT recovered from the blow. Malcolm looked at him imploringly. “You’re digging your hole _deeper,”_ he pointed out. “This is going to get you _far more_ than eleven years! You have a chance to recover from your mistakes, you—!”

 _“Recover!”_ he scoffed. “There _is_ no _recovery!_ Eleven years of my life were lost! I’m _drowning_ in debt! My reputation is completely ruined! I can’t find a decent job!” He turned back to JT, his grip on his gun tightening. “I’ve _already paid_ for my _‘mistake!’_ And I _keep paying for it!_ It’s time _you_ paid for _yours!”_ He kicked him directly in the stomach, knocking the wind clean out of him.

JT sagged to the floor, his head hanging as he fought to get air into his lungs. Malcolm stared at him desperately and searchingly. His mind was racing, struggling to find _some_ way out. There _had_ to be a way out, a way around this— his call had gone through to Gil, where was his phone now? Did he realize something was wrong? Had he possibly _answered,_ and he’d heard whatever scuffle had followed? Maybe he was looking for them right now! And Robert was mad, but if he was given the chance to actually _think,_ he might rethink the situation— realize what it was he was _actually_ doing.

They just needed _time._ For _both_ instances.

They just needed to _buy time,_ but _how_ would they do that?

Malcolm was yanked back into the moment at hand when he heard yet another sickening crack as the gun found home against JT’s skull a third time. By this point, he was too fuzzy and disoriented to do anything but stare at the ground as he fought to recollect himself. Malcolm’s breathing hitched and started to quicken as he saw him swaying just barely, from side to side. Robert watched him with cool detachment, kicking out and catching him in a way that left him falling into a heap on the ground. He leaned over him and Malcolm caught the words he hissed into his ear. “I’ve had _eleven years_ to think about what I want to do to you. I’m going to take my _time._ You’re going to _wish_ I’d jumped straight to killing you.”

JT was still too out of it to say anything.

Malcolm felt sick as he watched Robert turn and walk a few feet away, to the more shadowy part of the basement. There was a duffel bag, waiting there. He stooped down to pick it up and drag it back over to them. There was a sickening glint in his eye when he started to muse: “What should we start with firs—?”

“What about me?” Malcolm finally gasped, getting control of his tongue again.

His smile dropped, when he turned to look at him. “What _about_ you?” he rivaled.

Malcolm’s eyes went quickly to JT, before he looked back. “What are you going to do with me?”

He scoffed, bitter humor leaking into his voice when he growled: “The less cops in the world, the better. I’ll take care of you after I’ve had my fun with him.”

Malcolm’s eyes widened. His hands were trembling violently, where they were pinned behind him.

He knelt down and delved into the bag. By now, JT was coming back to himself. With Robert’s back turned, Malcolm looked desperately at him, not sure what else to do. One of JT’s eyes was swelling shut already. Blood was gushing out of a nasty slice in his forehead. They met each other’s gaze, and Malcolm was shocked beyond belief to find the look that was waiting for him. There was a front of toughness— a façade of glittering defiance that was still there. But Malcolm could see right through it. He could see that just underneath the surface of that…there was fear. There was dread— there was _already_ defeat. A sense of something that said what Malcolm was too afraid to: there wasn’t much they could do in this situation. Not restrained like this. Not in the middle of nowhere.

It was under the surface, but it was _there._ And with JT, that was saying something.

It _couldn’t_ be there. There _had_ to be a way out. Somehow. But until then…

“You’re doing it wrong!” he yelled, before he could stop himself. JT did a double-take, looking at him strangely. Malcolm tore his gaze away from him to realize Robert had stopped short at his outburst, too. He’d just begun to turn around for them again. Malcolm’s stomach dropped when he saw what he’d pulled out of the bag: a large, chef’s knife. For a heartbeat, his mouth hung halfway open as silence swallowed the entire basement. But it wasn’t long before he was forcing himself to go on. “Hurt _me_ first,” he blurted out, the words small. But not as small as the next words he shoved out of his mouth. “Don’t kill him— kill me.”

Immediately, JT was growling: “Bright— what the hell are you doing?”

Malcolm’s eyes didn’t waver from Robert’s. He _saw_ when Robert glanced at JT, his eyes flashing with interest at the reaction. Malcolm’s stomach tugged, when he rushed to keep with that momentum. “Think about it…” he breathed. “If you kill me first, he’ll have to watch. _Knowing_ that I’m completely innocent in this situation— that I was never once involved in any of it.” He didn’t dare look at JT as he said all this. But he could _feel_ his rising anger and mortification. It made him rush on, before he could say anything. “Torture me— _drag it out_ — have him watch you kill his friend and know that it’s all his fault.”

 _“Bright!”_ JT sounded furious.

It made Robert’s eyes light up all the more. Slowly, getting brighter and brighter.

“If you kill him now, it’ll be a _waste_. You think he _regrets_ what he did? It’s his _job._ He doesn’t regret it!” Robert glanced at him again, his eyes narrowing. “Killing him for doing his job makes him a _martyr_. But killing someone _else?_ In _front of him?_ Giving _them_ the punishment you styled for _him?_ Being responsible for someone innocent’s death… _that’ll_ make him regret what he did. That’ll change this _entire thing._ Sure, you’re already going to kill me— but why wait until after _he’s_ dead? Give him the chance to regret what he did to you— _really,_ regret it. Make him be responsible for what you do to me.” He shook his head, starting at him desperately. “Don’t make me an afterthought…make me the entire punishment.”

 _“Bright, shut up!”_ JT yelled.

Malcolm forced a smile. “See? He didn’t react at all when you hurt _him._ Now, he’s _already_ panicking. Because he knows I’m right.”

The edge of Robert’s lips started to twitch up in a little bit of a smirk.

JT tugged on the handcuffs, his expression clouding over with more and more anger as he looked between Malcolm and Robert. “You’re mad at _me,”_ he hissed, a certain sense of desperation beginning to leak into his gaze when he looked at Robert, who was staring at him much more thoughtfully now. “I was the one who arrested you— _I_ was the one who put you away, who ruined your life— Bright isn’t even _involved_ in this, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time! What do you get out of hurting him!? Where’s the satisfaction!?”

 _“Trust me,”_ Malcolm breathed, practically begging almost. “You _really_ wanna make him hurt? Hurt _me.”_

JT whirled around, glaring at him with just as much anger as he’d fixed Robert with, earlier. “Bright, I swear to _God,_ if you don’t _shut the fuck up—”_

Malcolm wasn’t even looking at him. “What’s it going to be?” he just asked Robert.

Robert stared at him, in deep thought. JT glared between the two of them, yanking on his cuffs again. Malcolm tried not to focus on either of those things. He just tried to focus on Gil, and the hope that he was working to find them. He tried to focus on the hope that Robert might come to his senses— that if he saw the reaction Malcolm hoped JT would _eventually_ give him, he’d realize this was going too far. That Robert would take his bait and that he would be able to take whatever he could dish out— that he could at least last long enough for JT to think of something, or for _either_ of them to. 

He just tried to focus on the fact that, despite JT’s glare burning a hole through him, this _was_ the right thing to do.

Because of the almost-finished nursery.

Because of the fact that JT wouldn’t know he would be a good father until he _was_ one.

He _had_ to be one.

If there was a chance of one of them making it out of here, it _had_ to be him.

And that was the thought he grabbed onto and repeated over and over in his head over JT’s yelling, as Robert slowly changed to walk over to him.


End file.
